


Afraid of the Sun

by SegaBarrett



Category: The Godfather (1972 1974 1990)
Genre: Domestic Violence, Gen, Post Sonny's Death, Snapshots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:08:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28124370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SegaBarrett/pseuds/SegaBarrett
Summary: Connie finds herself isolated after Sonny's death.
Relationships: Carlo Rizzi/Connie Corleone Rizzi
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	Afraid of the Sun

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own The Godfather and I make no money from this.
> 
> A/N: Title from "Isolation" by John Lennon.

Connie never told anyone what it had felt like that day when the door closed.

She had called her mother in a panic and of course Sonny had taken the phone, and of course he had promised to come and of course…

Of course he had never made it.

And when Carlo came home that day, it was the swagger in his step and the bounce to his voice after the phone rang that sent a chill down her spine.

He had sounded the happiest she had ever heard him.

He whistled after he told her.

***

_You Corleones, you’re all murderers!_

That phrase rang in her head.

Maybe she had been to blame for Sonny’s death. The horror of it had gripped her when she heard, but she hadn’t even had the time to consider how bad it had been for him because she’d been fixed in the utter glee of her husband. What if one of them thought that she had known, that she had called Sonny to draw him out? 

She felt twisted up, knotted that Carlo had really done this.

She realized that this man she thought she knew, she had not known at all.

It wouldn’t be the last time she had that thought about someone in her family.

***

Michael had gone to Sicily, and Connie didn’t know where.

Her father told her that he had married an Italian woman, a nice girl – and girl was right, from the photo she was sixteen if she was a day.

Michael had gone to Sicily and Connie couldn’t remember the last conversation she had had with him. 

Even though she and Michael were the closest in age, she had always felt worlds apart.

He had always been deadly serious, the entire time she had known him.

***

Fredo had gone to Las Vegas to learn how to run a casino.

He wrote her letters talking about his life, exciting and high flying, that he had seen Johnny Fontaine around and that Johnny still remembered Connie and sent his regards.

Fredo’s letters talked about how to play blackjack, how to win at a slot machine, and the secret lives of every star who swept through Moe Green’s casino.

He wrote about Moe a lot, too.

Most of the letters she got came by way of Sonny. 

It was like he understood. 

For after Sonny died, she would catch Carlo ripping up letters in the mail.

Sometimes, Fredo had been her favorite.

***

Lucy went to Hollywood after Sonny died. 

She wasn’t sure if Carlo let her take Lucy’s phone calls because he didn’t think anything of value could be said there or because it was his way of rubbing it in.

She could never bring herself to talk about Sonny with Lucy.

After all, she’d moved on – had found a plastic surgeon to marry and sometimes Connie wished that that perfect plastic surgeon would blacken both of Lucy’s eyes.

Because then maybe it wouldn’t all fall on Connie.

***

And it did fall on Connie, because Sonny had gone away the furthest of all.

She’d never been to Sicily or Vegas or California and she was sure that she never would. Her world now was _Carlo, Carlo, Carlo,_ fulfilling each of his needs, ones that could change from one minute to the next because he couldn’t make up his goddamned mind.

Sometimes Connie wished she had followed through on stabbing him that night.

Then Sonny would have still been alive.

***

If Connie could drive, she would drive over to the cemetery and visit Sonny’s grave.

If Connie could drive, she would drive through the tollbooth and wait for a hail of bullets.

***

_Carlo, Carlo, Carlo._

He cleaned up his act – that’s the way that Tom put it once when he hadn’t realized Connie could hear him.

Of course he had. 

He didn’t need whatever petty pleasure he had gotten from bringing a Corleone to her knees when he’d put another one in the ground.

To the victor went the spoils. 

Fitting that was what they named the son born after Sonny’s death.

She’d almost suggested they name him Santino, but it would be too…

It would be a lot of things. 

***

Sometimes the mere presence of Carlo in the room was suffocating.

Sometimes she wanted to scream and cry and throw herself at him, scratch up his arms and slap him in the face.

But more than that, it sickened her to know that she wanted Carlo to like her, to love her even. She was willing to split away from her all that she had, all that she was, if only he would smile at her and be pleased.

If only he would listen when she spoke, really listen.

The way that Sonny had.

And that felt like a betrayal.

And it was days like that that she thought about putting arsenic in Carlo’s dinner and standing back with her hands on the china cabinet, breaking each dish one last time. 

Just the same, she was sure that she never would.

And then she would wait until Carlo fell asleep and she would cry, hoping that somewhere, Sonny was listening.

Hoping that he forgave her.


End file.
